Habitual LonelinessKassandra Konecny
There’s
nothing quite like loneliness.
It’s not a
feeling,
but a series
of actions.
Loneliness
is the urge to trim my toenails
so I might
delay
going alone
to bed a while longer.
Loneliness
is checking a locked door
repeatedly
so I might
hear the turn of a key.
Every step I
take includes a pause –
A listening
for the break in silence.
I wait until
the bathwater has gone cold
before
draining it,
and I sit
until the tub is dry –
staring.
I keep only
one light on at a time.
In the
shadows, I could mistake
the unmade
bed for a form, snuggled
tightly in
wait for something warmer.
Light always
corrects me, so my finger
lingers on
the switch, and everything
takes a
moment longer.
I imagine
that this is why people slow
with age –
lonelinessbecomes
habitual.
Bones wear
from the pausing;
joints
shrivel beyond repair.
And, a loved
one’s death
is just more
permanent.
Just a time
when no one walks
through the
door, no one
turns the
key,
and the body
that’s left refuses
to speed up.

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